


Are you, are you, coming to the tree?

by Homeistheimpala



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Crossover, Destiel - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-09
Updated: 2012-05-13
Packaged: 2017-11-05 02:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/401217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Homeistheimpala/pseuds/Homeistheimpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester is a Career tribute, trained his whole life to take part in the Hunger Games. On the day of the Reaping, Dean volunteers because it is expected of him. Dean is the best fighter. Then he meets Castiel at the Capitol and Dean doesn't know what to make of the boy, apart from the fact that he won't leave his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was the day of the Reaping. They had the day off from training, to prepare themselves. Dean Winchester stood at the garden outside his house. In an hour they would, they would make their way to the centre of the district, where one girl and boy would be expected to volunteer as tribute. In District 2, Dean Winchester would be expected to volunteer. Because Dean was John Winchester's son, because Dean had an instinct for survival. Because Dean was the best.

Dean heard the rustling of leaves and his body tensed. But it was only Sam. Dean's body relaxed, but not completely. But that was simple force of habit.  
"Hey." Sam said quietly.  
Sam was one of the reasons Dean would volunteer. As John Winchester's sons, one of them was expected to volunteer this year. And Sammy couldn't do it. The kid was squeamish about killing animals. He would die in there and both of them knew it. Which was why John Winchester had Dean trained from a young age. He was going to volunteer as tribute when the time came. He would do it for his brother, for John, for the district. And he would win.  
Or die,Dean had thought bitterly. It had seemed unfair that his life was planned out for him, that he was expected to kill for... what? District pride? To be a reminder to the people of Panem?  
The people of Capitol were dicks.  
Not that Dean was allowed to say that. No, it was always the Capitol didthis and the Capitol did that. Dean hated it. Hated that he could be so easily controlled. That someone else had control over his life. Dean couldn't understand why everyone loved the Capitol so much. Yes, they were particularly generous to them. They were often called the 'pets' of the Capitol from other districts. Dean did not take this as a compliment. The Capitol took their children from them. Nothing they could ever give would make Dean forgive them of that.  
"Dean..." Sam started.  
"Sammy, I know what you're going to say, so save it." Dean said gruffly, not wanting to have this talk again.  
"Dean, you don't have to do this."  
"Yes, I do! Jesus, Sammy, don't you get it?" Dean burst out, "I have to so do this. You're under some crazy impression that we have a fucking choice. If I don't do it, then you could be picked, or some poor sap who doesn't have my training, who would probably end up dead! This is what my whole life has been for, so I don't have a choice, Sam. There's more important things at stake here then my life."  
"Like what?" Sam snapped back.  
"Dad's reputation! District unity! You know they decide every year who gets to volunteer. Every family has a chance. This year, it's our turn and I've been picked. So do not expect me to let down my father and my district. When you think about it, it's fair. We get to pick a kid. We train them so they don't lose." Dean felt like his father, saying those words. It was not something he liked but he had to make Sam understand that he could do nothing about this. It was out of his control.  
Sam had his bitch face on and Dean internally groaned. God, the kid was stubborn.  
"Sounds about right." An older male voice came. Both boys whipped around. John Winchester stood before them, wearing an expensive suit. Sam looked furious but Dean quickly changed his expression to impassive and respectful.  
"I hope you weren't trying to convince Dean to not volunteer." John said, knowing very well that was exactly what Sam was doing.  
Sam opened his mouth but Dean squeezed his arm. Shut up, kid.  
Sam snapped his mouth shut, shot his father a look that could kill and stalked back into the house. John looked at his son and Dean looked back without flinching. Satisfied, John smiled.  
"Your brother just doesn't understand. Your suit is in your bedroom. You should start getting ready." John turned around and left and Dean stared after him silently, when all he wanted to do was scream,"I DON'T UNDERSTAND, WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO ME?"

Dean stood with his head held high during the Reaping. When the announcer asked for volunteers, Dean looked at John, who gave him an encouraging nod. Dean volunteered in a clear voice and everyone clapped and cheered.  
I might be walking to my death, you bastards.  
Layla Adams volunteered as the girl tribute. They shook hands and Dean knew that if it came down to it, they would kill each other.  
They were marched off to a room, where Dean waited for his visitors.  
The first person who walked through the door was Sam. Dean didn't know what he was expecting, but he didn't expect his brother to pin him against wall.  
"Promise me you'll win." Sam growled.  
"Jeez, Sammy-"  
"Promise me you'll win."  
"I promise." Dean choked out. Sam had the advantage of being taller then him and, well, being his brother.  
Sam let him go and pulled him into a bear hug, crushing the breathe out of him.  
Holy mother of Je-  
Sam let go of Dean.  
"You're coming back."  
"Of course he is." John Winchester said, looking calm. His serenity angered Dean. But it was Sam who decided to do something about it.  
"Fuck you. You just sent your son out to be killed," Sam's voice was deadly quiet, "I hope you're happy. But let me tell you something. If he doesn't come back, if he dies in that arena, his blood will be on your hands. I intend to kill my brother's murderer."  
Sam walked out, leaving the threat hanging in the air. The threat on his life had shook John, because they knew Sam would do it. Because Sam cared for his brother more then anything else in the world.  
"That boy needs anger management classes." John finally said. Dean nodded, maybe because he didn't now what to say or do. His father gave him a short hug and told him he would do fine. The next visitor was his trainer. They went over all the tactics and he was once again congratulated. The last guest was unexpected. Chuck Shurley came through the door, looking awkward and out of place. Dean just looked at him. Chuck extended his arm.  
"Sam told me to give you this."  
Dean took the amulet that hung from his hand. It looked ancient, but Sam had given it to him as a keeps-sake.  
"It's supposed to keep people safe." Chuck said.  
"No offence, buddy, but I don't think some necklace will help me much." Dean said, but he put it on anyway.  
"Probably not. But if it counts for anything, I think you'll win either way." Chuck left.  
It counted.

The Capitol was huge. It was stunning in a futuristic way, leaving Dean overwhelmed. It had not taken long to get to the Capitol. When they arrived, Dean saw the citizens waving and cheering at them and it took all Dean had not to just flip them off. Their mentor, Bobby Singer, had explained to them the concept of sponsors. Dean felt sure he could do it. He was a charmer. He just didn't feel very... likeable at the moment.  
They get off the train and are rushed to the remake centre. Dean was dreading this part of the day. He was ushered into a room and told that his stylist would be with him shortly. Dean hoped he wouldn't punch his stylist.  
Dean had to wait about 10 minutes before a boy wandered in. About his age, maybe younger, with dark hair and startling blue eyes. On his cheekbone was a thin design in a blue that brought out the colour of his eyes. His head was tilted and he was just staring at Dean in a way that made him feel exposed.  
"You lost?" Dean asked.  
"No. I know this place very well." The boy's voice was deeper then Dean had expected and sent an unexpected shiver down him.  
Dean waiting for him to continue but the boy just looked over him he checking him out?  
"What're you doing in here?" The words came out harsher then Dean had expected.  
"I am your stylist."  
Dean waited for him to laugh, say he was joking, because he had to be kidding, right? Nothing came.  
"Oh. Sorry. Aren't you a little on the young side to be a stylist?"  
"I'm a child prodigy." the boy blinked.  
"Wow, modest much?"  
"Modesty has nothing to do with this. It's a fact."  
"Right..." Dean trails off, unsure of what to make of the strange boy.  
"The best stylist for the best tribute." the boy said it like it was something he had memorized.  
"Alright, Best Stylist, do you have a name?"  
"Castiel. Now strip."  
Dean choked up.  
"What?"  
"Take off your clothes." Castiel said slowly.  
"What, why?" Dean said the words more louder then he had wanted.  
"I have to evaluate you, I can't do it if you're covered." Castiel tilted his head and looked at him as though he was already undressing him with his eyes. When Dean didn't move, Castiel sighed.  
"You may keep your under garment if you wish."  
"Gee, thanks." Dean said dryly but started taking off his clothes. When he was done, he folded them and kept them in a corner, leaving his boxers on. He stood still as Castiel circled him, taking in every part of him. He occasionally ran a finger along his shoulder or some other part of his body and it was only due to the extreme training that Dean had undergone that his body didn't react. Because, dammit, it should be illegal what Castiel's fingers were making him feel. Weren't they torturing him enough?  
After a while, Castiel started taking measurements.  
"So, Castiel, you gonna watch the Hunger Games?" Dean asked, half out of curiosity, half to distract himself from the fact that Castiel's hands were on his thigh.  
"It is obligatory, is it not?"  
"Huh."  
"That doesn't mean I'll enjoy it."  
"Why not?" Dean was under the impression that the Capitol liked the Hunger Games.  
"Because it is cruel and evil of the Capitol to intimidate the country by taking their children. It's wrong." Castiel stated, leaving Dean staring at him.  
"You can't just say stuff like that." Dean said, but started laughing. Castiel frowned.  
"Why not?"  
"Maybe so you don't get blown up to smithereens?"  
"I don't understand that reference."  
For some reason, Dean couldn't stop laughing. Because in front of him was this boy, who apparently had no filter in his brain, who was from the Capitol and yet did not agree with the Capitol.  
"Oh, buddy. You really need to get a filter."  
"A filter for what?"  
That sent Dean into another round of laughter, which got him an "is he insane?" look from Castiel.  
Then Castiel started talking about clothes and ideas and what did he think about some outlandish idea of an outfit? Dean stopped listening to him after a while, just watching his graceful movements and the confidence in which he carried himself. For some reason, this boy whom he met not an hour ago fascinated him. His momentary peace was broken when a man perhaps of 25 came striding in.  
"That girl is a nuisance!" he had a clipped accent, nothing like the ones Dean had heard in his life.  
"Balthazar, just make her look pretty." Castiel said absently, not wavering his attention from Dean.  
"Make her look pretty! Well, Cassy, I would but she is so bloody annoying."  
"Dean, meet my partner, Balthazar. He's working on the girl from your district." Castiel said when it became evident that Balthazar wasn't going to leave until he finished his rant.  
"You got the boy. You're so lucky. He's a looker."  
"I'm right here." Dean said.  
"And I'm complimenting you, you twat. A thank you would be nice." Balthazar snapped and walked out of the room.  
"Did I do something...?"  
"Balthazar doesn't like people who tell him what to do." Castiel took a step back and ran an eye over him again. Then he gave him the smallest of smiles.


	2. Where they strung up a man, they say murdered three

"Your chariot awaits you," Balthazar made an emphasized gesture of bowing down. Dean shot him a death glare which would have scare anyone else shitless but Balthazar looked back lazily.  
"Save it for the arena, big boy."  
"Where Castiel?" Dean demanded. Castiel was probably the only person he was remotely comfortable with.  
"Darling Cassy is off doing... something, how should I know, am I his keeper?" Balthazar fixed Layla's outfit. Dean shifted uncomfortably in his own. Sheets of cold metal, beaten thin, covered him. Most of it was black, but there were gold outlines here and there, which made him look lethal and polished. Like a weapon. It was simple. Dean had to admit, it did make him look intimidating.

Layla looked gorgeous. Deadly. Her black hair was swept back and she wore an impassive expression, one Dean knew well.  
Then Castiel waltzed into the room and Dean forgot all about Layla.  
"What took you so long?"  
"I had things to do. Okay, so this is the moment. Now, being from District 2, you probably already have a lot of willing sponsors. I want you to look fierce, intimidating, confident. Hold your head up high. Give a cold smile. The works." Castiel said, looking between Dean and Layla. Both of them nodded.  
"Also, stay..." Castiel made a gesture with his hands, as though he were molding something. He couldn't seem to find the right word.  
"Superficially intact. That goes for you too, sweetheart." Balthazar filled, smiling a mocking smile. Layla smiled back at him, with a look that said that if he wasn't her stylist, she'd have his head by now.  
"We have an interview after your training, so please, no bruises or lumps." Castiel looked them over.  
"Try to keep the showing off to a minimum." That came from Balthazar. Of course.  
"We have to show off our talent. That's the point of the assessment." Dean said  
"I was talking to the girl." Balthazar smirked but his expression turned to one of horror as Layla shoved him against the door of their chariot, a deadly look in her eyes.  
"Look it, you spoilt brat, my body is not something you have control over, and my pain is quite evidently your amusement. I might be dead in 2 weeks, so I am not going to take any of your bullshit. You had better treat me with some respect." Layla growled out. She let him go and stalked off, saying something about needing water. Dean stared after her. In the few days he had spent in Layla's company, she was determined and lethal. She came off as a confident girl, as though her death never crossed her mind. She was reserved and Dean realized he never really knew her.  
"Bloody hell." Balthazar dusted himself.  
"You should apologize." Castiel suggested mildly. Balthazar looked affronted at the very thought.  
"ME? Apologize to her. It's not my fault everything I say or do annoys her." Balthazar shook his head and walked off, Castiel staring after him.  
"We need to leave soon." he muttered. He turned around and ran a hand along Dean's chest and arms, making sure everything was in place.  
Dean saw Balthazar and Layla returning, pointedly looking away from each other.  
"Stay safe. See you in a while." Castiel said, smiling at Dean.

In the next few days, Dean trained vigorously. He brushed up on every art of survival he had ever learned. He tied knots, ran fast, and did everything he could to train his body into reacting with instinct. On the 2nd day, he was approached by the tributes of district 1 and 4, with the proposal of forging an alliance. He had been told this would happen. He didn't see any point of it. If, by the end, only they remained, he'd have to kill his 'allies'. But his trainer and Bobby had told him to agree. So he agreed. Now wasn't exactly the ideal time to start making his own decisions.  
After that, they trained together, testing each other's limits, refusing to show weakness. They also agreed not to show their specialty skill, the one advantage they had over others.  
Dean's was his reflex actions, his ability to move quickly. He wasn't the smartest but at least his body knew what to do. If he knew anything, it was to survive. After all, he was thrown into make shift arenas since the age of 10. The Games may not have been real, but the fire definitely started burning after his 15th birthday. He had been through 70 arenas. Of course, back then his opponents were armatures.  
Dean sized up all the tributes. Few struck him as threats.  
Alastair, the boy from 1, with a thirst for blood. Ruby, girl from 3, never missed. Meg, girl from 6, was cunning. Henri, boy from 11, could climb and was good with traps. Layla could run like the wind.  
On the night after the assessment, Dean found Layla, fighting a dummy with everything she had. For a moment, he just watched her. Her aims were sharp, her body moving with fluidity, relentlessly hitting.  
"Do you watch me sleep as well?" She said. He looked at her and smiled.  
"That's a lot of pent up anger." He comments, sitting on the window sill. "I pity the person who fights you in the Games."  
"In the Games," she kicks the dummy, "I will just snap their necks."  
"What're you angry at?"  
Layla doesn't answer but glanced upwards. Dean understood. Their words weren't private.  
"Hey, I need to cool off. Let's go to the roof. It's really windy."  
Dean nodded. Wind meant noise. Noise that would cover their voices.  
They made their way to the roof in silence. When it reached there, Dean realized the noise wasn't solely the wind. No, down in the Capitol, people were celebrating.  
"Happy Hunger Games." Layla said bitterly.  
Dean snorted. Happy Hunger Games indeed.  
"You were asking why I'm angry. This. We kill and die for their entertainment. That's why in the Games, I'll kill whom I have to kill in the fastest way possible. We were taught to be efficient."  
Dean realized something about Layla then. She didn't have blood thirst. Just a lot of anger.  
"Well, I don't know about efficient, but the way Alastair looks at the others, I'd expect there to blood. Lots of it." Dean commented.  
"I wanted to talk to you about that. I've been thinking and... I think we should break out allegiance with the others."  
"What?" Dean looked at Layla like she was out of her mind. They had been given clear instructions.  
"I don't think they're trust worthy. I mean, none of them are, but the Careers more than anyone. The way Alastair looks at us, and the other tributes, like he wouldn't hesitate a minute to kill us. I don't trust him to not kill us the first night."  
Dean had gotten that impression but he was confident that he could beat Alastair. Hopefully.  
"So you don't want to be allies?" Dean asked, just to be clear.  
"I don't mind being allies with you. Its them I don't want to be with." Layla looked at him, her demeanor business-like.  
"So, you're saying that WE should break the allegiance?"  
"If you want. We have to have terms, of course."  
"Like what?"  
"Well, for one, if we're one of the last six standing, we part ways. I don't want to have to kill you, Dean." She looked him right in the eye and he knew she was being sincere.  
"I don't want to have to kill you either." Dean said and Layla smiled like he had given her the biggest compliment. He probably had.  
"You two done being mushy?" Bobby Singers rough voice made them jump.  
"How long have you been here?"  
"Long enough. I have to tell you, your plan to break the allegiance is stupid."  
Dean noticed the bottle of liquor in his hand. He didn't seem drunk, though.  
"Well, I think it makes sense." Layla said defiantly. Bobby sighed.  
"Do what you want, girl. Once you're in that arena, you do whatever you think is right. Just stay alive."  
Dean turned back to Layla.  
"Your other terms?"  
"Swift killing. If we're down to the last 6, we go in opposite directions. No sneaky plans or whatever goes on in that pretty head of yours while we're together."  
Dean nodded.  
"I can work with that."  
"You two better kick ass at the interview tomorrow. You're going to need all the sponsors you can get." Bobby reminded them gruffly.  
Dean nodded. He had his performance down pat. Fierce, but charming. A winner. Everyone loves a winner.  
"Castiel and Balthazar will be waiting for you. Get up early, understand." Bobby left. A small smile played on Dean's lips, but a frown was forming on Layla's forehead.

That night, Dean slept peacefully, better than he had in a while. He didn't know why, after all, he was heading towards possible death. But for some reason, he slept, slept until a pillow roughly hit his face.  
His first thought was that he was being suffocated. His mind quickly caught up with the fact that the pillow was thrown at him, not being held down, so it wasn't life threatening. His eyes sought the culprit and Layla's emerald eyes looked mischievously at him. She reached out and whipped his covers away. Dean thanked whatever entity existed that he had chosen to wear boxers.  
"Get up, sleepy head. Castiel and Balthy dear are waiting for us." She left the room with his covers trailing after her. Dean narrowed his eyes at the now empty doorway and shuffled out of bed. He showered and shaved and stumbled down the corridor, pulling at the knots in his muscles, warming up his body.  
Dean entered the room and saw Castiel fretting over his suit. It was sleek and elegant and white. There was silk piping with something that glittered green every time Castiel moves the suit.  
"The green will bring out the colour of your eyes." Is how Castiel acknowledges his presence in the room.  
"So, ready for the interview?" Castiel turned around. Dean's eyes immediately fell on his tattoo.  
"Yeah, as ready as I'll ever be."  
Castiel gave him a small smile. Then he pulled up a chair. "Sit."  
"What're you going to do?" Dean asked suspiciously.  
"You're going up in front of a whole nation, all of whom are obligated to watch you. You need to look presentable."  
Dean spread his arms.  
"I'm fine. See, no bruises or cuts."  
"Presentable for the camera." Castiel corrected himself.  
Dean sat down on the chair, already feeling a sense of forbading.

"I hate you." Dean said as he softly pressed the tender skin on his forehead.  
"Stop being such a wussy, take it like a man." Balthazar said.  
Balthazar and Layla had joined them a few moments ago, Layla all dressed up and looking like a female gladiator. A flowing gold dress wrapped around her artfully, killer heels and black curls half tumbling, half pulled up. She looked beautiful and fiercely stunning. Dean had to applaud Balthazar's talent. He managed to her look feminine but fear inducing. Brought out an emphasis on the fact that just because she was a girl didn't mean that she had to be over looked.  
Currently, the stylist and tribute were on either side of the room, with Layla beside Dean, sitting atop a table and Balthazar by the door, watching her every move to make sure 'she doesn't mess up my baby' as he put it. But Dean felt it was more than that. There was a hint of fascination in his gaze. Like she was a puzzle he hadn't figured out yet.  
Castiel gently removed Dean's hand and Dean's eyes shifted to his own stylist. Soft fingers gently smeared a cool paste on his forehead. The burning stopped and Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He caught Cas's eye and gave him a grateful smile. Castiel smiled back.  
"Oh, God, stop the eye-sexing." Layla's voice carried an inappropriate amount of amusement. Balthazar let out a laugh and Dean shot Layla a look. Castiel, on the other hand, just looked confused.  
"What are you talking about?" Cas tilted his head.  
"Ah, my sweet innocent. Nothing. Come along, sweetheart. You're up before Deano."  
Layla smiled at Dean and followed Balthazar out.  
"But, I don't understand, what is eye-sexing?"  
Dean bit back a laugh.

The interviews breezed by. After all, both Dean and Layla had been trained for a long time for this. It had gone without a hitch. Not because they were naturally charming, but because this had been drilled into their minds for the past 6 years.  
Before they knew it, they were off the hovercraft, with trackers in them and nervously waiting for the Games to begin.  
Half an hour.  
Dean paced the room, stretching his muscles.  
20 minutes.  
Layla knotted her hair around her finger but Balthazar slapped her hand away.  
10 minutes.  
Dean was surprised by Cas's hand on his shoulder. He realized two thing.  
One, he had started calling Castiel Cas without noticing.  
Two, he was going to miss the awkward, clueless boy.  
5 minutes.  
"Ready?" Balthazar asked.  
Layla shook her head. She'd never be fully prepared for this.  
3 minutes.  
Cas gave Dean a reassuring smile.  
"You can do this."  
2 minutes.  
"I don't know if I can do this." Nerves were getting to her, making her move with a slight tremble.  
1 minute.  
Dean made his way to the patch of steel that would lift him into the arena.  
30 seconds.  
Balthazar grabbed Layla's shoulder.  
"You can do this. I'm betting on you. Well. If I could. Hypothetically. That's a load of money and you're not making me lose it."  
Layla smirked, not allowing him to know that his words brought back her confidence.  
"Hypothetically."  
Balthazar nodded and shocked her by placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. Then he pushed her into the patch and she felt her body freeze.  
15 seconds.  
"Dean." Dean had no option but to look at Cas, seeing as he couldn't move.  
"I'll be waiting."  
10 seconds.  
"Hey, sweetheart."  
9 seconds.  
Dean smiled.  
8 seconds.  
Layla looked at Balthazar.  
7 seconds.  
Blue eyes met his green ones.  
6 seconds.  
"Don't die."  
5.  
Glass doors slid between the tributes and their stylists.  
4.  
Dean tensed, getting ready.  
3.  
The plate began to move. Layla got one last look at Balthazar.  
2.  
Rocks. Dean saw rocks.  
1.  
Layla registered the other tributes. She caught Dean's eye and nodded towards the weapons and packs. He nodded.  
BOOM.  
The canon fired and suddenly, there was blood and chaos everywhere.  
Let the Hunger Games begin.  
_A/N: Just wanted to say that I went by the whole process before the Games rather quickly. For more details, read the books (obviously), or send me a message. I'm more then willing to explain.   
Feedback is appreciated, as is constructive criticism.   
Thank you.


	3. Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the arena.

Dean ran towards the bags and grabbed the first one he could get his hands on. His fingers were an inch away when a knife whizzed near the bag. He pulled his fingers back and whipped around to find a girl running towards him. Unsure of her name or her district, he did the only thing he could. Pulling out a knife, he lodged it into her throat as she whizzed past him. She collapsed in front of him, breathe coming is short catches. Dean grabbed the bag and another one. He looked up to see Layla dodging an arrow. He beckoned her and she ran towards him. He threw her the other bag and she caught it.   
They grabbed weapons, any they could get their hands on, knives, arrows, spears, sharp rocks.   
The Careers were starting to lose interest in the bloodshed. They would soon notice the absence of the District 2 tributes.   
They took their chance and ran in the opposite direction, into space between boulders, in search for shelter and water. There was not much place to hide, with the open landscape and lack of trees and shelter. Ground rose and fell in uneven proportions and it took everything they had not to go tumbling down a hill, or a pile of rocks. They weren't sure which. The sky was clear, with heat beating down at them as they climbed and squeezed between stones, not wanting to be seen on plain land as Alastair and the Careers would be there.   
Finally, the found a cave-like thing. It was cold but they would survive. It was also hard and dark and only God and the Gamemakers knew what sort of bugs were in there. They did a recon and found nothing prominent or visible.   
It was night by the time they finished securing the location, making sure the rocks wouldn't fall on them, making sure they weren't visible, finding the best spot to stand on watch.   
Before long, there heard the canon and the Capitol's anthem started to play. Layla and Dean climbed up the rock, looking up at the starlit sky. It was cooler, but they expected it would get really cold really soon.   
The faces of the fallen appeared on the sky. The boy from 3. The boy from 5. Both from 6. Girl from 7. Boy from 10. Both from 11. Girl from 12.   
"9 dead." Layla commented. Dean didn't respond, did not even follow as she got up and went inside. He stared up and ,for a moment, thought of Cas's eyes. Soon, though, his thoughts strayed to Sam and his father and his district and Bobby. Could they see him now? Was Sam looking at him right this moment?  
He thought about the people he would have to kill in the coming days.   
9 were dead. 14 to go.   
*

Day 2 rolled by uneventfully and as night rolled out, displaying 3 more dead tributes, a counter started at the back of Dean and Layla's heads. 5 more until they would separate. 

*

The next day, Dean saw more death then he had ever seen. That's not to say he was an observer.   
The day had started off quietly. Perhaps too quietly. They were eating the fruits in the pack and making plans to look for water, as their supply was running low when a girl ran out of the thicket of rocks and small trees. She looked flustered and no more then 14. And Dean didn't even blink as his knife lodged itself in her chest a moment later. They packed up, Dean grabbing the knife when they heard the canon and the sound of a hovarcraft.   
They took off. They needed water, so they stuck with that plan.   
"I think I see something." Layla said, her hand shielding her face from the harsh glare of the sun. Dean looked up at her  
4 more until they would separate.   
"What is it?" He asked, stepping higher on the pile of rocks. The rock beneath him gave way and he swayed. This went unnoticed by Layla.   
"Look. Over there. Its like a small pond or something." She pointed towards a gleaming surface. Dean could just make out waves. "Well, if we see it, you can sure as hell bet Alastair and his lot have found it."  
"See, that's not it. See over there?"  
Dean narrowed his eyes at where she was pointing. He saw... Nothing.   
"I don't see anything."  
Layla grabbed his head and tilted it some more. Dean saw it. A small trail of smoke.   
"Not Alastair." Dean said.   
"They wouldn't be so stupid." Layla agreed, "but its another tribute and, by the looks of it, not a very smart one. Time to take on the role of the hunter, don't you think?"  
Dean caught on to what she was implying. No more waiting around to be found. Time to get rid of who they could.   
As they made their way towards the patch of smoke, Dean started to question himself. What if he couldn't kill an innocent person? No, he would. He had been trained his whole life. Would he be able to live with it, though? No. Yes. He had to. It was do it or die. And he would live.   
What for?  
Sam  
His father  
Cas  
The last name came uninvited along with the memory of blue eyes and golden tattoos.   
A yelp interrupted his thoughts. The wide eyed girl of district 3 stared at him.   
Dean wondered why District 3 was not a Career district. He didn't ponder on it much as the girl had pounced on him, taking him as the bigger threat. She couldn't have weighed more then a 100 pounds. She was easily plucked off by Layla. One headsnap later, she crumpled to the floor. The canon sounded and Layla and Dean carried on, now with more caution.   
3 more until they would have to separate. 

*

Dean could see the water. His mouth suddenly felt dry.   
"Ruby." Suddenly, the dead girl's name came to mind. Dean looked back but he knew he wouldn't see the body. Before Dean or Layla could do anything, a boy ran past them. It would have been quite comical in another scenario but the duo had their weapons out before you could blink.   
The boy hit the ground and shook in agony. Dean had no choice but to look at him and wait for it to pass or for him to die.   
The boy was obviously hallucinating because he seemed to be fighting some invisible enemy. After a moment, he gave up. Soft sobs reached their sensitive ears and for first time in the arena, Dean felt awkward. Layla looked sympathetic.   
The boy stopped moving and Dean went carefully towards him. Towering over him, Dean noticed he was still alive, barely. A gun was beside him, although Dean had no idea where he would have gotten one.   
His eyes, disturbingly like Sam's, focused on Dean.   
"Please." Dean would have missed it but for the utter and complete silence that surround them. Dean grabbed the gun and shot the boy twice, once in the heart, once through the head.   
The sound of the gunshot rang in his ear and he looked down at the boy he just killed.   
2 more until they would separate.   
Layla crept up behind him.   
"District 12. His name was Alex." She said. It made Dean feel like throwing up. The boy had a name. A family. Maybe even a girlfriend waiting for him.   
Then again, he was from district 12. What were the odds?  
"Tracker jacker sting. We have to be careful." Unnecessary waste of breathe, Dean already knew that.   
They collected water and tended to the bruises and cuts they had acquired.   
It was starting to get dark.   
"Isn't it too soon?" Layla asked, looking up.   
Dean shrugged, unease building inside him.   
"Maybe they want the Games to go faster." It had only been 3 days. At their end, at least.   
After a while, when it was completely dark, Dean whispered, "Maybe you should get some rest."  
"I don't trust this."  
"And you did before?"  
Layla smiled at him and Dean realised how pretty she looked when she smiled. She needed to smile more. They sat in alert silence, both having that gut feeling that something would go very wrong, very soon.   
"Hey, what's that?" Layla spoke softly, pointing at a silver speck in the sky. As it grew closer, they saw what it was. A sponsors parachute.   
"I thought all our sponsors ditched us when we broke the allegiance." Dean said, looking at the silver parachute with suspicion.   
Layla shrugged and reached out for it when it came close enough. Dean still looked at it with suspicion, like it was a bomb that would explode. Which it very well could be.   
Layla opened it up and stared, confused at the content.   
Dean peeked in a grinned.   
"Food."  
"Food?" Layla said, still confused.   
"Food." Dean went through their packs and found that they did not have much food, apart from dried fruits.   
"Bobbay." Dean smiled at the sky. For some reason, he felt light-heartened. It felt nice to have someone outside the arena looking out for him.   
"Running low on stock. Bobby must've waited for the right time. Wonder who our sponsors are." Dean looked up to find Layla playing with the string of the parachute.   
"...still betting on us." She muttered. Dean looked at her but decided not to pursue it. They ate and set some aside for later.   
"You know what I really miss?" Dean mused, staring up.   
"Sam." Layla said softly.   
"No. Well, yes. But that's a given. I really miss the Impala."  
"The what?"   
"1967 Chevorlet Impala. Its a car."  
"A... Car? Isn't that some transportation thing?"  
"Yes. Good thing you listen in History." Dean teased.   
"I highly doubt what people did years ago will help us." Perhaps Dean was imagining the bitterness laced in her tone.   
"She's beautiful."  
"Awww, we're you going to pop the question?"  
"Soon, all in good time."  
"Are you going to ride her into the sunset?" Layla smirked at him suggestive at the word ride and Dean caught on to what she was saying, as he was sure did the audience.   
"How PG 13 of you."  
On and on went their light-heartened banter. Dean couldn't remember the last time he talked to someone like this, not discussing strategies or weapons but just talking about... Stuff.   
At some point, Layla drifted off, leaving Dean to stare up at the fake stars in content.   
He sprung upright. You don't get CONTENT in an arena where you could easily get killed. Unease started unwind in his gut and his eyes darted left to right. He suddenly felt hyper-aware, like a hunter awoken in him. It was still startlingly dark but Deans other senses made up for lack of vision.   
"Layla." He whispered, touching her leg. She bolted awake, knife at the ready.   
"I think you should take out that gun." She said, sensing the tension in the air. Dean's hands found the gun, though they felt foreign. He unlocked it and aimed at nothing in particular.   
"Hope you know how to use that thing." A male voice said. A tribute showed himself. District... Dean wasn't sure, shadows seemed to cover him. Something gleamed. A sword or a knife. Dean suddenly felt frustrated at the lack of light.   
"Who's there?" Dean called out and Layla winced. They were giving away their position. But then again, their position was already revealed.   
Laughter filled the area. Familiar laughter. All too familiar.  
"Hello, Alastair." Layla said softly. As if her words triggered the reaction, their world lightened up. The light was was not sunlight and it took Dean a second to realize they were surround by fire. Trapped. The flames towered above the small about of water they had would not do anything to a monstrous flames.   
"District 2, trapped. How cute." Dean frowned in confusion. Nothing about this was CUTE.   
Odd choice of words.   
"Now that I've got you and will kill you as I please, before, I start, I want to ask something." Alastair's voice was diplomatic, like they were discussing a small problem. Dead could not make out his face but when he did, there would be bullets through it.   
Dean tensed up. To have created such an elaborate trap, they must've been there for quite a while. What could they have heard? Did Layla and Dean slip up somewhere?  
"Its for a the girl." Dean did not relax by much.   
"Tell me..." The voice was like a purr and Layla's eyes followed it, face impassive.   
"How much do you miss your darling brother?" Her face went blank with shock and then rearranged itself to look cool and collected. But Dean knew that beneath the exterior that Layla was shaking with fear and anger. Dean felt slightly guilty. He didn't even know Layla had a brother.   
"Quite a bit." She said mildly, only the death clench she had on the sword giving any indication of how she was feeling.   
"Ready to join him?"  
"Not quite." And she threw the knife. It flew by the fire and it its target. A loud moan that was obviously a girls sounded the night.   
"Clever. Well. She would have to die eventually." Another groan and a dying breathe later, girlish giggles filled the air.   
Dean looked at Layla.   
"District 1." She nodded towards the general area of the laughter, "District 4." She nodded towards the place where she had thrown the knife.   
The sound of the canon was heard. Rustling took over the night as the laughter stopped. They seemed to be moving away from the body. Dean tried to concentrate and figure out how many there were.   
The hovarcraft appeared and though the wind should have been enough to blow out a fire, it didn't.   
After a moment, there was silence.   
Too silent.   
"Where did they go?" Layla whispered. Dean shook his head.   
"Do you want to try to get out of here?"  
Dean looked at the fire. It rose high and thick and Dean had to admire the work. It left no place in the circle untouched.   
"The only way I can think of is running through the flames." Dean admitted. Layla's bashful expression told him she was thinking the same.   
He could imagine Sam screaming "THAT'S SUICIDE!" At the television. He could imagine his fathers impassive face and Bobby Singers contemplative one.   
"Bobby, we're gonna need something for burns." He said it softly, hoping he could hear him.   
"On the count of three?" Layla asked. Dean nodded.   
"One." What was he thinking? Why couldn't he just stay here?  
"Two." It was safe, apart from the fact that they would be burnt to death. But no one could enter. No one could get out either. And then Layla and Dean would have to battle on another.   
"Three!" Deans legs sprang into action almost without his permission. A moment later, flames ingulfed him and he had no idea what to do. Getting trapped was not in the plan.   
'But you've been trained for it.' A presistant voice in his head said. The voice would go nicely with his survival instinct.   
His skin felt like it was on fire and he realized that it WAS. His clothes were on fire, his HAIR was on fire. He stumbled, biting back panic. No amount of training could have trained him for the real thing. Suddenly, cooler air hit him and he fell to the ground on his knees. His hands sunk into cool sand. Coughing, he lay on his back and closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh air. He felt a shadow cover him and he prayed it was Layla. His prayers were obviously not answered because when he opened his eyes, a sneering male face was staring down at him.   
'District 7." A voice startlingly like Layla's said in his mind. Wow, how many voices did he have? Was he going insane?   
Dean rolled away as a knife came frighteningly near his throat.   
Leaping up, he grabbed whatever he had on him. A gun. A knife. He grabbed the knife, not wanting to waste bullets.  
The boy, on the other hand, had many weapons at his disposal. Dean leapt out of the way of a machet (a machet?!), shaking hands trying to get a firm hold on the knife. His mind still felt foggy.   
Weapons flew. Cuts and bruises and before he knew it, he had the boy pinned down. That was due to Dean's superior training, not because Dean was actually... Mentally present. His gaze sharpened as he stared at the boy under him. Hmmm, quite good-looking.   
Dean! The Sam voice exclaimed  
What?  
Your gay is showing. The voice sounded too smug.   
"Where's Layla?" He growled. No, not because he was trying to regain his sense of manliness. Of course not.   
The boy stared at him with crazy eyes.   
"Dead. Goner. They took her. Deserves it, the bitch."  
"Who took her? The hovarcraft?"  
The boy shook his head.   
"Alastair." He hissed out and his head fell back in hysterical, mad laughter.   
"Oh, God. Kill me." He choked out finally.   
"Not God." Dean looked at him and noticed the blue eyes. He moved his eyes away and did what he had to. Blood covered him and he felt filthy. The breathing stopped and the canon fired and Dean got up and walked away as if he hadn't just taken someone's life. 

*

Was going to Layla worth the risk?   
The projections in the sky told him she was alive. But with Alastair. He could walk away. They were supposed to go their separate ways now anyway.   
But she's with Alastair.  
Doesn't matter. She would die anyway.   
But she's with Alastair.   
At least he didn't have to kill her.   
But she's with Alastair.   
Stop it. She's not his responsibility.   
But she's with Alastair.   
The sun rose by the time Dean decided on what to do. He didn't want to kill Layla but he sure as hell didn't want Alastair to torture her and kill her.   
In his head, he made a mental list of who remained.   
Alastair and the girl from district 2. The boy from 4. Girl from 5. Both from 8. Him and Layla.   
7 more people to kill, Winchester. Get to it.   
Dean doubted 8 had an alliegence with the Careers. Where were they? How had they survived so long?   
As Dean made his way uphill, he thought up a plan of attack. It wasn't much of one. He would just have to wait and see the situation. He was trying to block out the Bobby and Sam voice in his head. The Layla voice was telling him he was an idiot. Gee, thanks.   
He saw the swirl of smoke and wanted to bang his head against a boulder. They were inviting him. Door mat and swirly letter invitation card and all.   
"You're an idiot."  
"Shut the fuck up."   
It took half the day to get there. Dean was climbing the hill when a gush of cold wish stopped him. The Gamemakers. He didn't know what they had planned but he'd bet anything it wasn't good. When he got close enough with a clear view. He didn't like what he saw. Layla was bound and gagged, fresh and dry blood everywhere.  
Dean let out a sigh and proceeded to do one of the stupidest things he had ever done.


End file.
